


Snow Angels

by sudapigrafool



Series: Snow Angels [1]
Category: My So-Called Life
Genre: Multi, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sudapigrafool/pseuds/sudapigrafool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shane's trying to figure out what Jordan's relationship with Angela was all about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Angels

“So,” Shane’s boot toe is rhythmically kicking the underside of the bleacher seats in front of them. “If you don’t need the complications then why did you pick, like, the weirdest girl in the entire school to hangout with?” He’s giving Jordan a cock-eyed smile, but stops just short of laughing at him when he sees Jordan frown.

“I didn’t _pick_ her, exactly,” he answers. “It just happened.”

Shane says nothing to that at first, but the restless movements of his feet have come to a halt. He’s been trying to get a reading on what this break with Angela’s been about and not get his hopes up too quickly. He’s not even positive she was ever Jordan’s real girlfriend to begin with. Sometimes, in Shane’s experience, Jordan is a little indecisive. Meanwhile, he’s been checking his jacket pockets for cigarettes, but it seems like he’s out.

“So, then, it un-happened,” he offers. 

“Well…” says Jordan, like he’s not sure. And this is exactly what Shane means. He’d suggested this latest development might be for the best, wondering if possibly Jordan himself thought a bad outcome was always sort of inevitable. But, now he’s just confused. It’s hard to know exactly what that single syllable utterance means for sure. Although Shane thinks the tone of Jordan’s voice makes the whole thing seem kind of final.

“…and she’s not the _weirdest_ ,” Jordan adds, as an afterthought.

“She’s a nice enough girl, I guess.” Shane’s not sure why he feels the need to put that out there, but suggesting Angela is some kind of flake and not saying anything else about her does seems a little too harsh, and not completely fair. Plus, he doesn’t want to sound like he’s questioning Jordan’s judgment.

“I guess.” Jordan echoes, only now he sounds less certain. Almost regretful. Like, maybe he wishes she wasn’t quite such a nice girl?

A guy can think that and still not mean anything rude by it, Shane tells himself.

He shifts from his slouch to an upright position, and rises to his feet. “But, I mean, one of the things I don’t get about her is how she’s friends with that Rayanne Graf. How do you figure that? You got a cigarette? I think I left mine in the car.”

“Uh-uh,” Jordan mutters. The car is Jordan’s, but Shane has a tendency to talk about all their stuff like it’s some sort of communal property. He’s already looking toward the parking lot, so Jordan gets up to follow him, grateful for the change of subject. _Was_ friends with Rayanne Graf, he’s thinking. Emphasis on the past tense. Apparently not every rumor going around the school today has made its way to Shane’s ears.

“That girl is _crazy_ weird,” Shane snorts, not ready to give up yet on the subject of Rayanne. “And she talks too much. About _everything_ , y’ know?” They all talk too much, according to Shane. “Like, who asked you? And why is it any of your fucking business?” Which is the exact same observation he made, repeatedly, after Buffalo Tom. “And _then_ , she let you fuck her. Like, she’s Angela’ best friend and she let’s you fuck her?”

Scratch that, Jordan sighs. The subject is still Angela, and there’s not much going on that gets past Shane. Especially not if it has to do with sex.

“Man, why don’t I have weird friends like that?” Shane throws the question, more like a punch line, over his shoulder as they clamber down the bleachers together.

When Jordan’s foot hits the dirt at the bottom of the climb, he looks up to see Shane’s subtle smirk, and the glint in his eye staring back at him. Oddly enough, Jordan doesn’t want to hit him, though. He just wants him to drop it.

“It wasn’t like that,” Jordan begins, but Shannon giggle-snorts at him, then coughs behind his fist. “Shut up,” Jordan tells him, giving him a rough shove and fighting the urge to smile. It’s just a reflex, a cover. There’s nothing at all that’s funny about it going on in Jordan’s head.

“What?” Yeah, Shane’s laughing at him all right, only he’s trying to be cool and not actually laugh out loud. “I thought you said you didn’t like complications.”

“I don’t!” Jordan insists.

“So then, why do you keep asking for them?” Now, though, Shane’s voice is starting to shake with all the not-laughing effort. He’s motioning with his hands, like, c’mon, c’mon, bring it. Bring that drama.

Seriously, Jordan doesn’t know why, and right now he doesn’t want to think about it. “I was fucked up, okay? I’d had a few beers. And some other stuff.” His words trail off in a mumble.

“Impaired judgment.” Shane’s nodding his approval and suddenly Jordan does feel like hitting him, for real this time.

Only not actually. What he’s really feeling is a whole lot more complicated than that. So when the back of Shane’s hand accidentally brushes up against his as they’re walking, Jordan wants to grab on to it, like Shane’s friendship, even with all the testing and unnecessary roughness, is the one solid relationship in his life that Jordan can always depend on.

Shane tucks his hand into his coat pocket, though, and acts like nothing happened, and they’re still walking side by side towards Jordan’s car.

“It was messed up,” Jordan says, wondering how much more he can complain about getting laid only by the wrong girl without sounding whipped, ‘cause, hello, _getting laid_.

“I could deal with some of that kinda messed up,” Shane answers, and there you go, Jordan’s thinking. His car door handle slips under his fingers and with a quick tug he’s sliding into the driver’s seat. He’d left the convertible’s top down, though, so ignoring little niceties like using the passenger door, Shane vaults over the side smoothly and plops into the seat next to Jordan. Then, he pops open the glove box. Cigarettes, ah.

“You got your flask?” he asks, lighting up.

Jordan fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans trying to work a hand under his coat. He rolls to the right and lifts his hips awkwardly while he’s doing it. He has to turn his head to the side so he’s not staring directly into Shane’s lap, which is slightly embarrassing, and also a move that doesn’t go entirely unnoticed.

“Lower, lower,” Shane murmurs tauntingly, bouncing in place and pretending to arch his pelvis .

“Shut UP!” Jordan demands bolting upright again, but he’s snickering, he can’t help it. He thrusts his near-full flask in Shane’s face, pointedly giving it a shake so he can hear the contents sloshing around inside. “Do you want this or not?”

“Yeah,” Shane makes a deft grab, but Jordan’s quicker, snatching it back from his grasp.

“Then maybe you’re the one who should be bending over.”

Shane hesitates for a second. His smile is devious, and Jordan knows a lot about how crude Shane’s humor can be, so he’s not sure what to expect next. But, Shane simply waggles his tongue at him while making lurid slurping sounds, and reaches again for the flask.

As his hand locks over Jordan’s, for just an instant Jordan feels the unmistakable urge to wrestle him for it. Shane’s fast though, and sneaky. And not above tickling him to get what he wants. Right here in the front seat of Jordan’s car, in broad daylight on the school parking lot. Which Jordan imagines will probably end badly with a lot of noise and yelling, and unwanted attention, or ever worse, unintentional squealing. So, no. Jordan thinks better of it, and he lets go.

Yeah, that stuff was okay when they were kids, but now, in public? Jordan would prefer to skip it. There are too many ways his feelings about all the wrestling and play fighting they’ve done over the years have changed. Things that are getting harder and harder for him to reconcile. Sometimes it’s too difficult to even think about for very long. It gets… _weird._

“Where you wanna go?” Shane has unscrewed the top on the flask and helped himself to a huge gulp, and now he’s already contemplating what’s next. “You wanna get something to eat?”

“I’m kinda broke,” Jordan confesses.

“I’m flush,” Shane informs him, looking straight ahead through the windshield.

“Yeah?” There’s a whole lotta questions Jordan has managed to pack into that one syllable.

But, “Don’t ask,” Shane tells him. “Burgers and gas money. I owe you.”

He probably does, Jordan thinks, but it’s not like he’s been keeping score.

“Let’s go,” Shane nods, and Jordan turns the key in the ignition.

As Jordan backs his car out of its parking space, he catches a glimpse of Angela and Ricky exiting the school building through a rarely used side door. If Shane has noticed them too, he’s not saying anything. His fingers are drumming on the dash in time to the music playing on the radio. Jordan turns up the volume when he brakes for the car in front of them. Later tonight they’ll be rehearsing at that same old warehouse they’ve used before, in the past. Their band is back together again with a brand new name. Jordan can probably stay the night and sleep there, too. To his relief, that means he’s accounted for his entire day. Food, fuel, and shelter. Tomorrow he’ll have to start all over again, but right now his best friend is relaxing in the car seat next to him, and in spite of--or maybe because of--all the other insecurities in Jordan’s life, he’s pretty happy with that. Things don’t get much better than this.

\--stop--


End file.
